


Quatrains

by salamanderinspace



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Blow Jobs, Deception, Emotional Manipulation, Exhibitionism, Foursome, Foursome - F/M/M/M, Light Side Character Death, Lightsaber Battles, Multi, Negotiations, POV Alternating, Polyamory Negotiations, Porn With Plot, Relationship Negotiation, Sneakiness, Voyeurism, Xenophilia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-04
Updated: 2018-02-07
Packaged: 2018-09-28 04:44:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10072400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/salamanderinspace/pseuds/salamanderinspace
Summary: An entanglement on Coruscant.





	1. Light

**Author's Note:**

> The curfew tolls the knell of parting day,  
> The lowing herd wind slowly o'er the lea,  
> The plowman homeward plods his weary way,  
> And leaves the world to darkness and to me.
> 
> That poem is much more severe than the utter crackishness of this story, but I enjoy it.

"Something is clearly troubling you, my boy."

The sun is shining through the windows of the Chancellor's office and into Anakin's eyes. Red carpet runners and rows of precious artifacts catch the light, gleaming, such that Anakin cannot find an empty corner to rest his gaze. This isn't what troubles him, though it is troubling; Coruscant is bright when it's bright and bright when it's dark, immersed in a halo of smog and light pollution. It's almost too much for Anakin to bear, especially when coupled with the constant barrage of Force pressing against his senses. This planet is vibrant with Force: with life, pulse, and motion. Anakin does not know why this throb feels _dim_ in the Chancellor's office, but he is glad. On days like today--when the morning dazzles, and when Padme is occupied in the Senate and there is no urgent matter calling him to the battlefront--Anakin escapes his sixth-sensitivity in the Chancellor's company. 

"What is it? Is it your duties?" the Chancellor asks.

Duty troubles Anakin regularly, but this morning he knows he can put his thoughts aside and put himself at the Chancellor's disposal. That is one duty that does not chafe. "No, Chancellor, it's nothing," he says. "A personal matter. A private matter."

"Much unhappiness has come into the world because of secrets and things unsaid," the Chancellor pontificates. "Small problems grow larger if you let them hide, Anakin. I trust you know this."

Anakin's problems are already grown. He has been contemplating his secret marriage. It has been six months since the ceremonies on Naboo and the union is still unknown to his closest friends and mentors. There is a sensation around him like a bubble that could burst any moment: a barrier between the life he is experiencing and a reality belonging to everyone else. He dares not speak, sometimes, for fear that this bubble could rupture--and yet, in a way, he longs for that. This silence cannot last. 

Today, when his heart is tumbling along like the early smoulder of stormwinds in sand, he is sure the truth must be readily visible on his face. He is distracted. The Chancellor is keenly observant and endlessly attentive; Anakin admires this and, in fact, misses it when their missions fail to intersect. Too many people in Anakin's life act oblivious to the happenings of the world around them: the chaos, the catastrophe. The Chancellor looks with both eyes open. He doesn't miss anything. Not even a daydream.

Anakin's relationship with the Chancellor is professional, of course. They must work together to sustain the Republic. There is also more than that. Anakin turns over memories of this office: the hours he spent here as a boy, playing dejarik and telling stories of his homeworld to the only man who seemed interested. Those were rare moments spent in leisure, back when every second and every ounce of effort needed to go toward his studies. Now Anakin is tempted to talk through his feelings--but again, there is work to do. The Chancellor seats himself in the lathanide chair behind his desk. He is facing away from the window, away from the glaring light. Anakin squints to see his expression, which appears to be fixed in the usual medley of fatigue and casual concern. 

Anakin does have some good reasons to keep his secret close. He tries to imagine what could transpire if the Jedi learn the truth. He envisions a number of scenarios, the worst of which ends with him in the Republic's Judiciary Lock-Up. That's a rather severe conclusion, but there is no way to know how the Jedi Council could react to the forbidden affair. He longs to announce his bliss to the world--to make it public, to make it real. Even just one person knowing would be enough. "Yes, Chancellor, I do know. But I should not discuss this further. It's a matter of...the heart."

"Then it is a very serious matter indeed." The Chancellor's casual concern condenses into something more pointed. He gives Anakin a penetrating look. "And not one the Jedi would offer practical counsel toward, I imagine."

"No. No, they can't know about this." _And that, in itself, is the problem_. No one can know. He could handle the risk, the uncertainty, but living two lives is preventing Anakin from fully enjoying either. "I'm sorry, sir, shouldn't we focus on this mornings' conferences?"

Palpatine scoffs. "Anakin, you are my priority, and you are clearly in need. We can deal with the conferences later. Come now, spit it out."

Anakin takes a deep breath. This is what he wants, more than anything: to tell someone the truth. It's just--he knows he should not want things for _himself._ "Can you keep a secret, Chancellor?"

"When I must, I am capable. I think you know I would for you, son."

Anakin is reluctant but he can feel the weight of the Chancellor's expectation. The man has been good to him, and he deserves this expression of confidence. A cloud passes in front of the sun outside the window, and Anakin's head starts to clear. "Alright, here it is. I am... in love. With a...with Padme Amidala, in truth. And in truth, we are married." 

Anakin feels his shoulders relax as the words leave his mouth. He'd never suspected the figure of speech about "gettings things off your chest" was based in a literal sensation. Suddenly, the bubble he's in is no longer fragile or isolating. It is great and shimmering and strong, and the Chancellor is inside it with him.

To compound Anakin's relief, the Chancellor reacts with poise. "I confess," he nods, sagely, "I am not entirely surprised."

"You're not?"

"Anakin, Padme was my Queen; I was her ambassador to the Senate. Naboo is my home. You of all people know how I value loyalty and friendship; do you think I have no friends among the civil clergy in Theed? Your secret ceremony has never been secret. Not from me, at any rate. I have always been very happy for you both."

Anakin feels warmed by this revelation. Almost hot. He hesitates to reply. 

"Besides," the Chancellor continues, watching him closely. "For the last year you've been floating like a bee at the blossom. I suspected it was love."

Anakin swallows pangs of self-consciousness. "I hope Obi-Wan hasn't noticed."

"Do you?"

The Chancellor is asking in seriousness, so Anakin gives this serious thought. "No. The truth is, I am not certain. I hate to be alone with this. I want someone to see it, Chancellor. To see how happy we are." Suddenly, he is shouting. "People need to know!"

"Ahhh," he sighs. It does not matter that Anakin lost himself and raised his voice. When the Chancellor sighs, all the tension drains from the room. "You know, I once knew a young man who was troubled by these very frustrations."

"What did he do?"

"He hired a bass violist to come into his rooms every night and play for himself and his wife."

"I'm not sure I understand."

"My boy, the ailment you speak of is loneliness." The Chancellor rises from his seat, and turns toward the window. He assumes a philosophical tone. Vehicles outside speed by, ceaselessly; the window forms a picturesque backdrop of commerce and the fast, predictable patterns of the urban machine. "You trust no one with your deepest secrets, and therefore are alone with them. The cure is disclosure. Let someone in." Anakin feels himself crossing the room, drawn to the man speaking these words. He stands by his mentor's side at the glass. "People care about you, Anakin. I care about you. Let the right person close to you and you won't feel so alone."

"I can't. Pardon me, Chancellor, but I can't just hire a bass violist--"

"Of course not. The stakes are too high." The Chancellor ponders this. He steeples his hands, pressing them to his lips, and tilts his head slightly to one side. Anakin sees his reflection in the glass. Thoughts churn in his eyes. "Well. You know. This is a bit unconventional, but I would be willing--it might be tedious, but I would be willing..."

"Willing to what?"

"To provide that service." The Chancellor turns to Anakin and gives him an appraising look. "Anakin, you are feeling a poverty of connection. I may be wrong, but I daresay you and I have always felt connected?"

"I--I do feel a connection to you. It's rare."

"The Jedi ensure that, don't they? They keep connections scarce." Anakin is utterly disarmed when the Chancellor shoots him a kindly smile. His smiles have always broadcasted patience and charm. _Understanding._ "But we've known each other for a long time. A very long time."

"We have," Anakin admits. 

"So? Why not allow me to watch over you?"

Anakin can't be sure, but he thinks he feels the weight of the Chancellor's gaze, just a little too heavy on the word "watch." There is something provocative in it. Is this a proposition? Something...voyeuristic? _Surely not,_ he thinks, searching the Chancellor's face for a clue. Anakin blushes, realizing he must be projecting perverse fantasies onto an innocent offer.

But Anakin _does_ want to be watched. His mouth is suddenly dry as he issues an invitation. "You could come by for dinner?"

"My work keeps me busy in the evenings, as you well know," the Chancellor replies. "But I could come by after." Long, thick, velvet robes sweep the carpet runners as the Chancellor turns away. He makes his way down the steps and crosses to the center of the room. The sun is finally gone behind some clouds; the Chancellor's Suites look larger. Knick-knacks settle into softening shadows, causing the space to feel more like temple--or a starship. Anakin watches the Chancellor's slow, rhythmic steps, almost forgetting to breathe. He certainly forgets to reply, out loud, until the Chancellor turns to look at him quizzically. "Well?"

Anakin's words come out awkward, fumbled. "After dinner, sir? Such as for...brandy?" 

"I could bring brandy," the Chancellor assures. Then, for just a second, his look of kindly humor turns smouldering. "Though I think the larger point is that you crave a witness to your domestic routine? I suspect I'll find your usual romantic leisures entertaining enough." 

There is nothing appropriate about the proposal. It is no longer uncertain what is being offered. Anakin's pulse quickens. He wants to say _yes._ "I'm not sure how Padme would feel," he says, instead. "About you coming by. Later. What should I say to her?"

"Think it over for an evening," he advises. "Be sure it's what you really want. If it is, tell her so. Any woman who cares about you will take your desires seriously." 

But Anakin must be sure what he is desiring. He must know why he is desiring, because that is how a Jedi controls his thoughts--rationalization, justification, explanation. He steps down off the dais, intending to close the distance but hesitating there a moment. "Chancellor--What I feel is more than just our--history together--"

"Maybe it's the Force?" the Chancellor suggests.

Anakin is taken aback. The Force. Yes. That's easier to admit than--than-- "Yes. That must be it. The Force."

"Alright, then," the Chancellor affirms. "That settles it." He pauses, so Anakin may nod in agreement. "Now, I have these conferences to occupy me tonight, but I can call on you and Padme tomorrow. That'll give you two time to talk it over."

"Yes, sir." Anakin shifts his weight from one foot to the other. He is parallel with the Chancellor's desk and unsure of how to proceed. "Shall I'll send word that we're ready to come down?"

"Yes, please do," Palpatine says, comfortably. He turns and crosses to the door, stopping just outside to pick up some flimsiplast messages. "Ah, yes," he murmurs, reading the note.

"What is it?"

"It's good news. The Kaminoan envoy requested that today's conference be moved here, to the Executive Building," he announces. "You may return to the temple. I won't need a Jedi escort for this trip."

"How about a witness?" Anakin smirks at the Chancellor's raised eyebrows. "I mean, I know how helpful it can be to have access to a friendly perspective. And who knows? A Jedi might come in useful." Besides--Anakin does not quite feel ready to return to the temple yet this morning. He needs just a little more time before he can step back outside, alone, and walk into the light.


	2. Heat

Padme is wearing too many layers to have this conversation.

It could be worse. There could be makeup, running in her eyes, sticky on her lips. Her hair pulls in the high buns atop her head, but that could be worse. She's had more elaborate hair to deal with. 

The layers, though. She's wearing a floor-length gown over a silk chemise and it's hot in the Chancellor's office. Sweat trickles down her spine. It has been doing so since she walked in the door, and it does so _increasingly_ as the Chancellor speaks. He seems unaffected by the temperature, although he is also cloaked in heavy robes. When he forms words the air ripples like it did on Naboo in summer in the meadow. _It should not be this hot in a climate-controlled office,_ she thinks. Then she takes a deep breath, and returns her attention to the crisis unfolding.

"How did you find out?"

"Relax. Only I know this information, and I don't intend to tell anyone," the Chancellor says. He forms his words a little too precisely, with a voice that is somehow soft, slippery, and sharp all at once. He's just revealed that he knows of her secret marriage. Her one true weakness. Unless he truly means no harm, her career is _over._ In some ways, it's a relief. In others, unthinkable. 

Perhaps the heat is causing her to panic. She straightens, searching for calm. "May I ask why you invited me here?"

"Only to protect my young friend," the Chancellor answers. "I want to talk about Anakin. About what's best for him."

Now, she does relax. Of course. They _are_ friends; Anakin has mentioned this. Padme had never really considered that before, knowing Palpatine only as an honorable (if overly reformist) diplomat. Despite many recent disagreements, this man serves the Republic well. They work side by side here, as on Naboo. Any conversation about Padme's personal affairs will remain just that--personal. "Could we adjust the heat, a bit?"

"I'm afraid it's broken," he says, sympathetic. "But about Anakin. I do think he loves you. He told me he did."

Padme feels some degree of shock. Anakin would never have told their secrets. Would he? She's suddenly exasperated and, in no small quantity, terrified. _Who else has he told?_ "I should really speak to him about that."

Palpatine smiles. "You don't understand him."

"I beg your pardon!"

"I mean no offense. I only wish to help." Rising from his lathanide chair, the Chancellor strides across the office toward one of his many artifacts. A moment ago, she'd been hanging on his words; now Padme feels agitated, half-ready to storm out. The Chancellor continues speaking, with his back turned, as if he addresses the empty room. "Anakin feels things very deeply. If you try to control his expressions of love, you trap his heart in glass and ask it not to shatter. Then he comes to talk to me instead of you."

"Control? I think you make many presumptions." She wonders again why she has become the Chancellor's audience. _Is this some kind of emotional intervention? Have I really been called here for that?_

"I think my presumptions are correct," the Chancellor counters, turning to look on her again "Were you not just silently condemning the boy? For spilling his guts to me?"

Padme contemplates. "I'm concerned. I suppose you're right. I don't understand why he'd do such a thing. Chancellor, why have you asked me here?"

The Chancellor moves back toward his desk, this time choosing to position himself on the same side of it as Padme. When he is close, she can see that he, too, is blinking sweat from his eyes. Or perhaps these are tears. "I care deeply for Anakin," he professes. "I have known him almost as long as you have. Haven't you ever noticed how hard he tries to make you feel good? To make you feel his love? Too hard, sometimes. Like he wants you to feel good but also...he wants you to be _afraid?_ "

The truth of this stops Padme. Settles in her. Anakin is bold, sometimes, and unpredictable. At times she is sure he _means_ to throw her off guard. "Yes."

"This is what merits his consultations with me. He wonders, how can he know you'll be there when he reaches for you if you don't understand the depth of his love?" He gives her a significant look. "And his power?"

There is some kind of insinuated threat, but Padme can't grasp what it is. "I'll always be there for him," she asserts. On the defensive.

"I know, I know," Palpatine says, "but I have concerns that he does not know this, as he should."

"You're saying--he's insecure?"

"Yes, very," the Chancellor affirms. "And I think you know how to handle that."

Padme senses the conversation is finally arriving at some kind of action. "How?"

"The way women have since the dawn of time. Make him feel powerful. Put on a show. He's invited me to come to your apartments tonight. Let him convince you to let me stay. Let him think he's getting something he wants."

"That's...dishonest."

"Not if you really want him to be happy. Do you?"

"Yes, but--"

"If your affection is authentic, then the deeds are honest enough."

Padme does not know what to say to this. The Chancellor waits a heartbeat in the silence, then excuses himself, announcing that he has a call scheduled shortly. Padme recognizes the meeting has ended but the Chancellor's words stay with her, following her home. It was an awkward conversation. Perhaps that was partly her fault--perhaps she could do more to set Anakin at ease. She certainly didn't want him making plans without consulting her. 

Is this something Anakin needs? To feel powerful? She had been meaning to confront him about the Chancellor's revelation but now she wonders if it won't exacerbate some sort of insecurity. How would he react to the knowledge that they'd been discussing him? _Plotting,_ practically? He'd been comfortable enough to meet with the Chancellor--to make social arrangements for their evening--all on his own, and without asking. _Arrangements involving our home,_ Padme remembers. She feels an inexplicable kind of unease.

She thinks this over as she slips into a bath--which she does, promptly, to unstick the small hairs from the nape of her neck. She is still soaking in the hot water when, later, she hears her front door. "In here!" she shouts at Anakin, who finds her damp and languishing in flower-scented foam bubbles.

He halts in the door, overcome. "I'll never get used to that," he says.

"The bubble bath?" It's a luxury on Coruscant, certainly, and not something found on a starship or on Tattooine. Padme had been fortunate on Naboo, where plumbing was advanced and fresh water, plentiful. "It reminds me of home."

"Not the bath," Anakin marvels, "you." He crosses the room and kisses her, slipping an ungloved hand into the water to fondle her breast. She blushes at the boldness. He _is_ always bold: endearingly, nerve-wrackingly so.

But this time, he draws back. He wears that wounded-animal look that sometimes precedes a moody silence. "What is it?" Padme asks. "What's wrong?"

He's uncomfortable. "I need to discuss something with you." He bites on the words, a little.

"Please do. Anything." She hopes her wide eyes and level tone conceal everything she choses not to say. _Tell me everything, this time. You can trust me. I want to help._

Kneeling at her side by the tub, Anakin pushes a strand of her hair--dripping, as it is--away from her eyes. The touch is quick, like it's stolen. "I told someone about us," he says, glancing away. "Now please, don't be upset. Just hear me out."

"Of course. I'm sure you had a good reason." It all makes sense now. Padme is grateful for the afternoon meeting, because without it, she would have overreacted. Lost her head. Demanded answers. This way, she is appropriately forewarned, and can provide Anakin with the support he needs.

"I did have a reason," Anakin reveals. "See, I thought it might be kind of fun for someone to watch us in bed, together. You know because, it's...it's a secret. I just want someone to see how beautiful we are."

Padme's jaw drops. Is THIS what the Chancellor meant by _"invited to come to your apartments tonight"?_ For a second, she's reeling. "Anakin, wait, I don't know--"

"Shhh, please, just _listen._ I've thought about this. I found someone I really trust, that I really care about. He makes me feel calm. And you know him too. I want this, Padme."

Padme has never considered whether _she_ wants Palpatine to see her naked. She's not offended by the idea but _certainly_ not aroused. Anakin's desire, on the other hand, is coming across with incendiary intensity. It is boiling her bathwater. _Don't I make you feel calm?_ she wonders, aching. Obviously not, if they're only just discussing this now. It occurs to Padme that everything the Chancellor said may have been a ploy to engineer some sexual escapade. _He's so old,_ she thinks. It's hard to see him as sexual, in any capacity. Anakin is staring at her, expecting a response. "Who do you have in mind?" she asks, buying herself a moment to think. 

Anakin steels himself. "Chancellor Palpatine," he admits, softly. "But he'd only watch. From a distance."

_That's what he does,_ Padme realizes, _he watches people._ With his wealth and position, company would not be difficult to come by. No, there was something particular about this situation--about Anakin, and herself--that caught his eye. She remembers the way he struck nodes of truth in everything he told her. Was it possible he really _did_ care for Anakin? 

One thing is true, at least; she must discover a way forward that satisfies them both, and also her duty. _If your affection is authentic, then the deeds are honest enough._ "Very well," Padme agrees.

"What? Really?" Anakin is surprised. His face flushes in the most precious way. He inflates with excitement.

"Yes, but please, let me finish my bath. I'll have to dress for dinner."


	3. Veil

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh yeah I forgot to mention this is an AU. Ha whoops. I reconfigured events feat. Maul's story after Naboo. Brief mention of the discrepancy in this chapter. The next chapter (4) is Maul's chapter so that would have been jarring.

The bedroom blazes with candles; Padme straddles Anakin atop satin sheets. Barely visible behind cascades of Lantillian lace lingerie--trimmed with pearls--her body glistens. Slow, tender movements in soft light throw translucent shadows on the textured wall.

 _How dull this is,_ thinks Palpatine. Though, he does not think of himself as _Chancellor Palpatine._ Not in this moment. He eyes the couple from across the room: him, on an overstuffed riosan recliner, them necking in their marriage-bed--and calls himself by the name his master once gave him. Never has _Sidious_ seemed such a poignant title as now, when paired with the vulpine coordination of the vast system of events in which this tryst is only one component.

Sidious senses waves of anxious excitement coming off the young couple. They are both treating this as an adventure, in which the call outweighs the risk by only a tiny margin. _If they knew._ These festivities are mundane compared to the parade of fantasies locked away in his heart. Those are buried deep, of course, under the complex web of actions that must be taken to bring them to bear. Though some of the steps in the plan do carry a certain gratification. This one isn't _so_ very tedious. As his taste goes, this is par, yet Sidious predicts more potent promise in upcoming developments. There is the dissolution of the stagnant, oligarchical Senate, for instance. There is the reckoning with intergalactic bankers and corporate allies--they get what's coming to them, and the galaxy finally achieves a modicum of economic security. There is also what he has foreseen for Anakin: a particularly satisfying course of fate in which the young Jedi drops to his knees, swears allegiance to the Sith, and then burns the Jedi Order from the inside out like a worm devouring the heart of a rotting fruit.

 _Oh, when the time is ripe._ Sidious grins.

Sidious is fond of the boy. He is attracted to both his potential and his presence. It is this attraction--as much as Anakin's potential--that brings him here; it is destiny. In light of his long-ago vow to show his disciples greater endearment than his master showed to him, Sidious is pleased to find that The Chosen One is also chosen by his passionate side. He _does_ possess a passionate side; where else from does an extraordinary being take unerring guidance? Certainly, he has respect for the traditions of the Sith, but he does not see the formation of long-term bonds as exclusive to these traditions. Bonds must be formed to be broken; this is the cycle. With the proper management, Sidious believes, he can obfuscate the chains that bind. If they are invisible, if they are weightless--well, one cannot conquer what one cannot see. Sidious watches candlelight glint on the blue of Anakin's eyes and smiles, to himself. _I can work differently than those before me,_ he thinks, _as I have different tools available._ At any rate, there is absolutely no need to police a natural preference to form certain attachments. That would be a Jedi mistake.

He has, in fact, avoided this mistake once already. He'd been tempted to allow his apprentice--a Zabrak, titled Darth Maul--to suffer the consequences of a bad beat on Naboo, some years ago. Instead, he'd thrown out the more superficial performances of tradition and gone to the wounded warrior. _Reclaimed_ him. With some help from the witches of Dathomir, Maul was remade easily enough, and to this day he remains a useful weapon in Sidious's arsenal. Again this departs from tradition, as Sidious is _also_ utilizing the service of the fallen Jedi, Count Dooku, in something like an apprenticeship. If all goes according to plan, the Sith Lord will have not one but _three_ apprentices tethered to him. After the fashion of Emperors, he'd have his heirs quibbling over their inheritance, distracted, and therefore delayed in the inevitable succession.

Meanwhile, in the present, Anakin reaches to Padme to unbutton her decolletage. His hands are fumbling--an agitated, excited touch. There is visible restraint in it; he wants to tear the garment off her, to throw her to the bed, to ravage her. Sidious can feel the force of his want. This is what he truly wanted to reveal to a third party: not love, but _longing._ And how thoroughly he masters it. The Jedi would give him praise for such a thing.

"Don't hold back on my account," Sidious interjects.

Anakin grins, but he remains still. He is sitting near the head of the bed, legs outstretched, with her in his lap. They are intimately close but he won't meet her eyes. He won't let himself _have_ her. "Are you sure?" he asks Padme, for the hundredth time since he led Sidious over the threshold of her apartments and into their private affairs.

She's been a stalwart hostess, thusfar, regarding his presence with polite acknowledgements and an untouchable elegance. But now, in the moment of truth, she flinches. "It just feels odd," she whispers. "He's my political adversary."

Anakin freezes. Her withdrawal of permission is worse than if she'd never given any. 

Sidious grins. Anakin had come to him brimming with a problem--a loneliness that he could not share with his wife because she would judge him. Reject him. Now here she is, doing just that: stepping on his darkest fantasies just hours after agreeing to participate. With the proper push, he might never again trust the sincerity of her words. It's a tickling turn of events and the desire to encourage a rift is strong. Unfortunately, Sidious deems it unlikely that the blowback from a sexual misadventure such as this could disrupt a loving couple, permanently. He adheres to his original plan: restrict Padme, rather than remove her. Anakin is a moth to her flame; she must be dimmed, not extinguished. Thus Anakin can gradually be drawn away. 

Conditioning the Senator to curtail her power will be easy enough. Sidious has found many self-deceivers of the Republic to be susceptible to surrendering power, wheresoever they can be convinced that lies are softer and friendlier than the truth. If they ever saw that their institutions were built on corrupt foundations, if they felt doubt, their fear of confronting truth--and all its ramifications--would keep them silent. So Sidious had called Padme to his office to offer doubt and silence. He'd offered her a veil, a paper lantern; she had only to wear it. For _Anakin._ Rather than improve her marriage, she could pretend to perfection. She simply had to perform for him.

At the moment, the young Jedi is nervously demanding to know why his wife didn't divulge discomfort earlier in the evening. There's a risk here, if she continues to speak. "You are a capable woman, Padme," Sidious interjects, derailing the spat. "I am certain it is within your capabilities to separate business from pleasure."

"I _can_ ," she answers, sharp and defensive. "I just don't know if I'd consider your presence a pleasure."

"Well then let me say sincerely that I have every intention of making your life easier from this day forward," Sidious assures, "and you needn't fear my interference in the Senate, or my humble gaze. Simply proceed about your normal routine." 

Padme looks as if she'll answer, but instead she blushes, folding her arms over her chest. She is stymied and suddenly awkward. Anakin is the one to explain. "The truth is, there isn't much of a _normal_ routine, since the war. Or before that. A Jedi's life..." Both halves of the couple tense and separate, slightly.

"Yes, I understand." Sidious smiles. They _both_ have performance anxiety, he realizes, as they're not _well-rehearsed._ He won't step into the role of marriage counselor, but he relishes the opportunity to place the blame for any problem where it belongs: with the Jedi. "Do you ever wish for a _different_ life?"

"In some ways," Anakin solemnly replies. "In some ways this is what I've always wanted. The Jedi devote their lives to helping people."

"There are many paths which help people..." Sidious broaches the topic. Cautiously. "Some of them may even help _you_ , as well."

Anakin looks at him, thoughtful. After a moment, he shakes this look from his countenance, and speaks. "I love being a Jedi," he says, wooden and obedient. "I get to see the galaxy." 

"What if you could have both?" Sidious muses. "What if you could have the whole galaxy, and also spend time with loved ones?"

Padme imposes. "He doesn't need to see the whole galaxy. He needs to be where his duty takes him." She turns to Anakin, and softens. She leans into him again, touches his chin, kisses him. "The galaxy is fortunate to be able to see _you,_ " she says. There is something in her eyes: a fierce admiration for Anakin's acquiescence to his position, to his duty. He responds by kissing her back, and pushing the lace shell from her shoulders.

A wave of anger. _The galaxy does not see Anakin,_ Sidious observes, _not as he sees himself._ Nor does she, truly, see him, but she sees his service, and service is enough for her. Sidious has miscalculated; he is furious. He'd assumed Padme's primary objective was to sustain her marriage. This is not so. Rather she means to sustain her fantasy. He sees her, now. He sees the story she wrote in her head of their love: the Senator and the Jedi. She imagines a secret, forbidden alliance forged to fight for their pure ideals until they retire, blissfully, to train their brood to do the same. So prominently does her fantasy overscore reality that she imperils herself. There is actually a tremor in the Force around her. Anakin must sense it and attribute it to their romance. No wonder he's lonely. She will never follow him to the Dark Side. She will never follow him anywhere. She cannot read the writing on the map. 

Moreover she cannot be tempted to mask her own interests, or threatened in a position already so oblivious to danger. No mask or veil will fit a face already slippery with paint.

As Anakin necks and fondles her, she locks eyes with Sidious. In this moment, she is making her choice. Choosing what fits her story best. _I know what _I_ want,_ her gaze tells him, _but why are YOU here?_

Two things are apparent. One is that she must be done away with. If she cannot be made into an ally, she must be unmade. Sidious has contingencies for this, for when the time is right.

The second conclusion: Sidious will have to wear the veil, for now. He slips back into the smile he wears as Chancellor Palpatine, giving it warmth (and just a little heat.) "I am truly the lucky one," he says, breathless, "to be a guest in your home." He makes a show of devouring every inch of her with his gaze.

It is enough. Padme accepts the flattery as an indication of desire. Sidious suspects she recognizes desire in men--it is comprehensible, managable, even useful. Anakin beams. The Sith lord half-watches the couple recuperate their ardor. Like a switch was thrown, Padme is oblivious, now, to his presence, and in different way, so is Anakin. He keeps glancing over to confirm that Palpatine hasn't left; that he still watches. In only one moment--toward the very end--he closes his eyes and, slowly, exhales. As if to accept that he is not alone any longer.


	4. Blush

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maul comes for Padme. Warning: a (light side) character dies in this chapter. Not Padme though!!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this update took so long!!! It's a short chapter and I kept trying to make it longer. Anyway, rest assured, the story is not abandoned (technically) and it is moving toward payoff (slowly). ;)

Maul drops from his airborne vehicle, onto a discreet corner of the marble balcony. His modified airspeeder is left idling, where it will hang unnoticed against the teeming sky of Coruscant. He can retrieve it later. Now, he has one task: he must assassinate Senator Padme Amidala.

When his Master gave him this mission, he had almost questioned it. The time to overthrow the Jedi finally draws near. It will happen this very day. Now, in this moment, this is where Lord Sidious sends him? To confront an unarmed woman? Were Maul not so impenetrable, so strong and honed in body and mind, he would be wounded. As it stands he lives to execute this order. He will do so quickly and efficiently. Perhaps there will be a reward--for there is always more carnage coming, and each mission must be taken as preparation for the next until... _Through victory, my chains are broken._

There is little need for Maul to be cautious during rush hour. The sheer density of traffic has obfuscated his approach. He is merely one shadow in the carousel of noise and light beyond the Senator's attention. Sometime long ago the Senator's staff installed long, stylish curtains on the balcony to separate the sunny palisade from the interior of the apartment. Like a large cat, Maul conceals himself in this fabric to watch and to wait. 

He does not anticipate needing his great stealth. The Senator has no Force sensitivity. She may as well be blind to his approach. But she is not the only one watching.

It's only a hum, a movement of air, and a flash of light that gives Maul warning. There is a Jedi: here, waiting! There is no time to savor the thrill of meeting one of these merciless soldiers in battle. Maul is fighting for his very life. His heart is pounding with both defensive motion and fury. The rage flowing outward from the ruthless blind-siding is a gift. Maul attunes every sense to the Dark Side.

That is how he finds enough presence to discover that this is not just _any_ Jedi. It is Obi-Wan Kenobi. Profound violence is owed to this monster.

It is unmistakable that Kenobi wishes to exterminate Maul. A holy fire burns in the Jedi's blue eyes; he will not be subdued. He lunges, a knight compelled to slay a dragon. Time slows. Maul sees everything clearly in the Force: the charging Jedi, the inevitable death. His lips form the word "no."

He reacts instinctively. When time unsticks, when his heart has ceased to pound like the furious rev of an engine, Maul looks around and sees he has slain the Jedi with his saber.

Maul must reach for his breath, his composure. He has taken his body to the very pinaccle of combat, to the edges of his abilities. Something inside him uncoils. There is relief that he has dispatched an unexpected disruption to a critical mission. There is the joy of victory over a Jedi, even the Jedi who smote him down on Naboo. There is--

There is the Senator Padme Amidala, standing and watching. 

Maul moves into a stance to calm himself. The Senator does not flinch. She looks toward the fallen Jedi with shock. There are, predictably, tears in her eyes. Maul did not predict, however, what she says next.

"This is good," she says, almost in a whisper.

"Good?" He hesitates. Her judgement is so out of place, so unnecessary. It almost seems vulgar.

"He was going to kill Anakin," she explains. "He said he'd turned toward the Dark Side. Killed younglings."

"This is true," Maul affirms. "Your mate is Sith. He is killing Jedi even as we speak." Maul sneers as he recalls hearing the news from Sidious. Anakin Skywalker is now Darth Vader. The youth is not trustworthy, Maul thinks, but Sidious has decided. Sometimes Maul has difficulty knowing who is best to trust. Sidious always knows.

"I need to talk to Anakin," the Senator declares. "He'll listen to me." There is a desperation in her voice. She is not like Sidious. She is not firm and sure; she is only hopeful. 

"Why would he?" Mauls asks. There is no condescension in the question. Maul wishes to understand. He himself would only believe what is said by someone very wise. This young Senator is not as wise as his Master--even the young Jedi knows this. "He has sworn himself to the Sith."

"He loves me," she says.

Maul has reason to pause. Now, she sounds firm and sure. "And you believe this feeling will cause him to obey you?"

"He'll want to help me," she insists. Her voice grows shrill; she is becoming panicked and impatient. "Will you take me to him?"

"My orders are to kill you," he tells her. She does not appear surprised to hear this. Maul permits himself to admire the way she faces him. Her eyes do not say "vermin" and her bearing does not say "monster." He can count on one hand the number of people who have addressed him as an equal. "Are you not afraid?"

"No," she answers. Maul's keenness of observation catches on her complexion. There is no pallor of fear, but rather, a flush in her cheeks. He is finding this color commendable. "You can kill me after you take me to him," she says. "If he lets you."

A growl rises in the bottom of Maul's throat. "I can kill you at any time," he says. He is surprised--but unshaken--by the reaction this woman has inspired in him. "Your lover would not protect you," he adds. 

Her expression crumbles. Now is the moment; the rational action now would be to kill her. Kill the target and return to Sidious. Yet Maul senses something. He can feel it in the Force, and also inside himself. Had his Master not taught him to seek power in his emotions? It is not reason that binds one to the Dark Side, nor even wisdom. _There is only passion._ The Senator seems to believe she can incite this in Vader. Maul wonders. 

If nothing else, Maul is tempted to challenge himself by shifting tactics in response to the opportunities of the mission. He makes up his mind. "Come with me."

"You're going to let me live?" 

"No. I am going to kill you later. Come now."


	5. Respect

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flashback. One year after the events of chapter 3, Anakin seduces Palpatine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heh did I mention this story has a non-linear timeline? Yep, chapter 5 is a flashback. Also, I haven't written really dirty porn in a long time, and I needed to practice, so please enjoy a gratuitous sex scene. <3

A year has passed since that first night Palpatine spent in Padme's apartments. There have been other liaisons since--successful, proper little orgies, wherein all parties restrained themselves. The Chancellor sat in the corner and sipped brandy like the aristocrat he is--or was. Padme had moved subtly in Anakin's lap, graceful and lovely as an angel. Anakin knows she did this for him, but somehow, it didn't really feel like it was for _him._ When he lets himself consider what _he_ wants, his mind keeps going toward a different fantasy. This is what brings him to Palpatine's office, tonight.

He never has anything for himself, really. When is there time? He is shouldering the weight of the galaxy: fighting a war while navigating the many wonders (and challenges) of a secret marriage. It is a heavy burden. Anakin is not certain how much longer he can bear it. There are stretches of time when he feels he is not himself. He asked the Chancellor casually to get together tonight, hoping for just one evening away from it all. A drink, a conversation. "Certainly, my boy," the Chancellor had agreed. "Direct your thoughts elsewhere, for a time."

Anakin isn't the man he was when the Clone Wars started. He was never innocent--no--but his experiences as of late have cultivated the blaze inside him, some. Given it direction and purpose. There's something within him that just jumps after what he needs. He is learning to trust this feeling. When Palpatine asks him how he wishes to spend the night--"chess, cigars? perhaps Dejarik?"--Anakin answers Palpatine with a growl, striding across his office with two steps, shoving his mouth against the Chancellor's, wet and lewd. The Chancellor doesn't lose composure, exactly, but he breaks the connection, shocked. Anakin lurks and presses and soon has Palpatine spread back against the massive desk, looking less like a politician and more like a _person._ The old man is panting. It's only a second, though, before Palpatine rises back to his feet, and slowly, slowly, comes on. With a jerk he has hands fisted into Anakin's hair, tongue leaving a stripe up behind Anakin's ear, teeth scraping down cartilage to bite the young Jedi's earlobe.

Anakin shivers. “Don't think I'm a child,” he whispers, hoarse and low. “Don't think you can get away with some sloppy handjob where we never speak of it again.” He's not thinking of the Chancellor now, but of everyone who's ever treated him as less than whole.

"I wouldn't dream of that," Palpatine assures, but Anakin is already pushing apart robes, shoving garments down and out of the way in one smooth motion as he drops to his knees. The old man conveys approval only with the burning gleam of his gaze. Anakin, encouraged, rubs his face against Palpatine's bare thigh like a cat, reveling in the feel.

“Is this,” he asks, looking up, nose buried in the furrow between Palaptine's cock and thigh, “Acceptable?”

“Yes, yes...” the Chancellor soothes, twining his fingers tightly into Anakin's lengthening hair, causing Anakin to practically purr as he gets to the business at hand. He's mouthing and sucking lightly, reaching one tentative hand. “Yes...” the Chancellor whispers, once more, letting Anakin have his head.

Anakin smirks up at him briefly, light eyes shining, before sucking the head of Palpatine's cock into his mouth, tongue playing over the slit. He hums happily at the taste. Breathing deeply through his nose, Anakin braces one hand against Palpatine's straining thigh before pushing his head as far down as he can, swallowing compulsively against Palpatine's cock.

“Good,” Palpatine gasps, gripping Anakin's hair even tighter, considering the urge to guide him up and down. As if reading his mind, Anakin slides off Palpatine's cock with a wet pop, and looks up at him, lips red and swollen, looking thoroughly debauched. “It's okay,” Anakin says, after working his jaw for a second. “You can use my mouth.” And then he grins, all feral teeth and eager eyes.

"Oh..." Palpatine groans, "I should have seen the potential for this long ago," he murmurs, grabbing Anakin's head with both hands and thrusting into his mouth. Words aren't an option, now, but Anakin thinks, "you did, though, didn't you?" as he lets his tongue slide slick along the bottom of the Chancellor's cock. They both knew, somewhere deep down, this was possible. Anakin's teeth graze dangerously over the top. There is a slow, intimate moment, like a kiss. A promise. Then Anakin struggles to keep up with the Chancellor's thrusts, swallowing on every downstroke, creating a hot, wet suction.

“Good,” Palpatine hisses between his gritted teeth. “Good.”

“Mm,” Anakin agrees, pushing his mouth even further down. His nose wedges against the Chancellor's pubic bone, where he stays, lodged in a mess of his own whimpering. Palpatine is looking down at him, or else he would touch himself. For some reason it seems undignified. When, with a final snap of hips, Palpatine spurts his appreciation down Anakin's throat, the Jedi takes it in stride. His throat works quickly to swallow Palpatine down, make low, pleased noises, and suck the continuing stream and final drops.

There's a split second pause where they're both frozen in time before Palpatine slithers down the side of his desk (with a kind of cautious grace) just in time to catch Anakin against his chest as he pitches forward. Then they are holding one another. The silence is long and thick, delirious with unpledged vows; just before Anakin can speak, the Chancellor reaches for him. In a smooth motion, Palpatine pulls at the waist of his paints.

"No--" Anakin's hand goes to catch the old man. "It's alright. I'll do that later. With Padme."

Palpatine crooks a brow. "And are you going to tell her? About this?" 

Anakin feels his cheeks flush, burning. "Yes. Of course. She's the love of my life. I would die without her."

"And if she asks you not to come back here?" Palpatine asks, with concern. Anakin cannot help but smile at the note of insecurity, and he answers it with a fond, gentle nuzzle into his mentor's neck.

"She doesn't have to follow me," he says. "But she has to respect my decision." To this, Palpatine is silent. _Thoughtful_ , Anakin guesses. They sit together for a long time after that, intertwined, with the pocket of stillness in the Force wrapped around them.

**Author's Note:**

> This will either be 4 or 8 or 12 chapters in alternating POV. Come find me at millicentthecat.tumblr.com


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